


John My Beloved

by itsalwaysyou_jw



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Mind Palace, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes, Romance, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwaysyou_jw/pseuds/itsalwaysyou_jw
Summary: Sherlock Holmes travels through his mind palace to revisit critical moments in his relationship with John Watson. He can't change history, but he can pretend.





	John My Beloved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inevitably_johnlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitably_johnlocked/gifts).



> This series is a collection of one-shots where I press "shuffle" on Inevitably-Johnlocked's famous playlist and write a fic based on the first song that pops up.
> 
> Inspired by "John My Beloved" by Sufjan Stevens.  
> Chosen lyrics: "I read you for some kind of poem. Covered in lines, the fossils I find; have they no life of their own?" / "I am a man with a heart that offends with its lonely and greedy demands. There’s only a shadow of me; in a matter of speaking, I’m dead." / "I love you more than the world can contain In its lonely and ramshackle head."

The path beneath him was so familiar, there surely must be an indent in the rug from the continued, unending pressure of his feet along this path. Doors stretched along either side of the corridors he journeyed past, thousands of possibilities available to him and each door offering a unique option. Of course, despite the volume, he’d been inside every room of this wing of his Mind Palace multiple times; it held every memory he’d ever stored away pertaining to John.

The Mind Palace, in theory, was a memory recollection system. In practice, however, it was capable of so much more.

While every room in this wing was invaluable, he sought only one specific hallway at the moment. This particular hallway held roughly one hundred memories of John, each representing a critical moment in their relationship.

The room at the very end of this corridor was the reason he came. He itched for the final room, yearned for it, craved it. Yet he caught sight of the second door on his left and his feet faltered in their assured motion. The moment he saw the door, he knew he was helpless to avoid the pull of temptation it posed.

This was once the most visited room, used to be the most precious room. Even now, his stomach fluttered with anticipation at the sight of it. Sherlock put one hesitant hand on the door knob, pushed, and he was instantly transported.

Together, they laughed against the wall of 221B. John’s laughter ricocheted against the walls melodiously and his heart constricted with love. He hadn’t caught the signs then, but he recognized them now.

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” breathed John between gusts of laughter.

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”

His laugh was water in a desert, a lick of warmth from a much-needed flame, a gulp of country air after years in the city. It put a smile on his own face, and he knew right then everything was going to change. He burned for want of going back in time to fix it all.

That’s rather why he was here, however.

His eyes caught those of the soldier next to him, alight with adrenaline and wide with joy. John gave a goofy smile in response, a crooked look at caused a painful lurch in his heart.

“John?”

“Yeah?” His eyes held Sherlock’s and his chest was still heaving with the excitement of it all.

“I’d be open to an affair,” he said with all the confidence he could muster.

John’s smile faltered in response but didn’t disappear. Rather, his head shook in confusion and his eyebrows stitched together, asking, “Wh-Sorry?”

Sherlock gave him a smile he’d since learned had the knack of charming him. “I told you I’m married to my work. But on second thought, I don’t reckon my work would notice if I got caught up in a rather turbulent affair.”

A stifled laughter wrought with overwhelming delight escaped John, his eyes crinkled as they held his gaze. “You know, we could even include your work in our misadventures.”

Oh, you clever man. “Of course. I’d be lost without my blogger.”

Now John’s face was contorted in confusion because, of course, this John had no idea what he was talking about. He would not become Sherlock’s blogger until after the conclusion of what he- annoyingly- called “A Study in Pink.”

Nevertheless, it didn’t matter. His plans for entering this room had come to fruition.

Every single room in this specific corridor was a time Sherlock could have- and should have- allowed himself to express his interest in John Watson. Every single time he stayed silent in reality and regretted that silence, he placed the memory here to revisit. To fix his mistakes.

The next room he ventured into was ten rooms down from the first. It brought him to the pool that Moriarty had just left. Of course, Sherlock knew Moriarty would re-enter the scene shortly. However, they had not known that at the time.

John, panting from shock against the cubicle’s edge, didn’t notice Sherlock’s own pacing. When he had held Moriarty captive to allow Sherlock the chance to run, that was the first time it truly struck Sherlock that he didn’t have an accurate read on John.

He had it all wrong, it seemed. John’s habits and activities could be read as clearly as a poem, though his heart was a mystery to him. John was a fossil whos lines could provide information scientifically yet provide no information on the sort of love it held.

“You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson,” Moriarty had said.

He had. Sherlock should have known then and there.

“Are _you_ okay?” John asked a still-pacing Sherlock.

“That, er- thing that you... er- that you did… that, um…” he stumbled out the words like they were the first to ever fall from his mouth. He cleared his throat to start over. “I mean to say, you offering your life to save mine?”

John’s eyes fell to the ground, his feet shuffling. “Yeah?”

“I am honoured to be in the presence of such a noble man. Though you should know… I couldn’t bear your loss, John. I’d rather die myself.”

John stared at him, timid realization filling his eyes slowly. Terror at potential misunderstanding was evident, and Sherlock was not surprised in the slightest when John response was an uncomfortable cough followed by, “What… do you mean, exactly?”

“Exactly?” Sherlock thought hard, selecting the very few words available that could portray the sentiment he was experiencing. “I mean that I would rather die this instant than live any form of a life without you. You are- you always will be- the only thing of importance in this world. You are, and always will be, the love of my life.”

“Christ, Sherlock,” he gasped, his mouth working around his lips while he processed a the confession.

Yet they were out of time, it seemed. As in reality, Sherlock re-lived the return of Moriarty as well as their second narrow escape. Of course, the return to their flat was quite different and Sherlock reveled in the returned love John voiced when they returned.

* * *

 There were just over one hundred of these alternate realities that he could have traveled through, though he was cautious of how many rooms he entered. At first, the alternate-realities were bittersweet: in the early days, their close friendship was almost comparable to the wild affairs Sherlock created in his Mind Palace. The more doors he entered and passed, however, the further along their story they got. These doors weren’t bittersweet at all; they were heartwrenching.

Not heartwrenching in their endings, which were all jubilant, but in the knowledge that things hadn’t really gone that way at all.

At first, their friendship had been nearly as good as actually being with John. This was not the case in those rooms which took place after Sherlock’s return from the dead. Their relationship was strained, complicated, and desperately falling apart over time.

“John, I am a man with a heart that offends with its lonely and greedy demands,” Sherlock half-sobbed to a John two weeks from marriage. “Without you, I am merely a shadow of life. I might as well be dead.”

“Don’t you say that,” snapped John with a viciousness that cut through him.

“Which part?” whispered Sherlock, terrified of the answer, even now.

John’s furious eyes met his tear-rimmed eyes for a long moment before softening significantly. “The second part, you dick.” A sobbing laugh left Sherlock, though John broke his gaze away from him and continued speaking before he could respond. “The throes of losing you were nearly more than I was capable of handling, Sherlock. Don’t you ever say that you might as well be- Don’t say that you should-” his words cut off with an untold emotion, his clenching hands revealing his internal struggle.

“John, look at me,” he whispered with all the tenderness he possessed. When those beautiful eyes met his, he took one cautious step forward. It was a feat beyond a miracle that John not only _didn’t_ back away from the gesture but shifted his weight slightly toward Sherlock to receive it. Emboldened by the sign, the motion was swift: he placed his hands gingerly on either side of the man’s beautiful face and held the world in his hands as he beheld the universe in his eyes. John’s mouth was hanging open slightly and Sherlock’s heart performed dangerous stunts at the perfect puckering of his lips.

“John, my beloved, I love you more than the world can contain in its lonely and ramshackle head.”

Despite the face that endeavored so ardently to remain stoic, the corners of John’s mouth trembled, his eyes tightening in an effort to hold in his emotion.

“Why now?” he asked in a trembling voice.

“Because this may be the very last moment I am able to confess,” he answered truthfully. The doors after this were limited. So much pain was in store for the both of them down this unstoppable path. John would be married, Sherlock would relapse, John would suffer great loss and personal strife, and Sherlock would be wholly unable to cope with the loss of John’s companionship.

Unconsciously, John licked his lips, his eyes scanning Sherlock’s for even the slightest hint of insincerity. He, of course, found none. Never had words been uttered with more sincerity than the words of love spoken from Sherlock Holmes to John Watson.

“Fair point.” The words were a terrified whisper before his eyes fluttered closed and they met each other in a wildly desperate kiss.

John’s hands wrapped around his torso with astonishing strength. Sherlock’s fingers gripped either side of John’s face, holding it with equal tenderness and desperation. There was no ounce of hesitation or caution in their embrace; there was only unparalleled passion and years of desire poured into the connection. Their mouths moved together perfectly and their lips moved in promises of eternity to each other.

* * *

The last door was his absolute favorite. Most often, he would stride down the hallway and make no stops until he reached this door. The other hundred doors held memories that had to be manipulated to maximize his happily ever after with the man he so dearly loved. They were merely ways to experiment with the relationship and live a hundred different lives with John Watson.

This last door, though, was special.

The last door held the most precious memory of all- the one he would spend the rest of his life holding in his mind as well in his heart.

He reached an excited hand to the door handle and began to turn it.

“Sherlock?”

The familiar voice echoed around the hallway of his Mind Palace, the image before him vibrating ever so slightly from the disruption. Its source was external which could only mean-

 _John_.

He sprinted with impossible speed through his Mind Palace until he reached the exit. With an excited push on the door, he came back to reality with a rock of his body, his eyes fluttering open to behold the most beautiful sight in the universe: John.

Just John. There was not anything out of the ordinary, per se, except everything about John was extraordinary. In his exceptional being, John was absolutely perfect.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his smile faltering slightly as he caught sight of Sherlock, his eyes lit with curiosity.

“Absolutely nothing, my beloved.”

In a swift motion, he rose from his seat and took John in his arms. The man’s arms wrapped around him affectionately, his cheek nuzzling gently against Sherlock’s beating heart.

“Hey, hey,” he said, gently rubbing his back in circles but not breaking apart from the embrace. “What’s going on, my dear?”

Sherlock spoke into the sandy blond hair, his words muffled by his need to nestle himself into John’s head. “I’ve been considering all the times I was foolish enough to stay silent rather than confess my undying love to you.”

“Hey,” he said sternly, pulling away to look at him and ignoring Sherlock’s whine of protest. “Don’t do that, my dear. None of that matters anymore, alright? We have each other and we’ve been through hell to get here. I think we’ve earned the right to stop dwelling in the regret we both drowned in for years.”

The words were a perfect ray of sunshine to cast away every trace of black clouds that had formed in Sherlock’s mind. They cast a smile on his face that was the sort only John could bring about.

“Quite right, as always.” He planted a thankful kiss on the forehead of his husband and released the man to stride toward where his jacket hung. “Though you pulled me away before I could cheer myself up by reliving the memory of the one time I finally did tell you.”

John was radiant in his true joy saying, “Best damn day of my life.”

Sherlock could not possibly fight back the all-consuming smile that stretched his cheeks to near-pain. He loved him so much. John Watson: his best friend, his blogger, his conductor of light, his moral compass, the love of his life, and his husband.

“Four murders, all with the same MO, have stumped Scotland Yard,” he said a cock of his eyebrow and that ridiculous smile still plastered on his face. “Come along John, my beloved, the game is on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please bear in mind that all works are simply inspired by the songs. For this song, I was inspired by the evident pining and depth of longing.
> 
> If you're new to The Johnlock Playlist, you can find it on Tumblr:  
> Inevitably-Johnlocked (http://inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com/johnlockplaylist)  
> OR on Spotify:  
> I-J's Johnlock Playlist created by Beatriz Benezes Pinto
> 
> If you fancy it, find me on Tumblr:  
> thezefronposter.tumblr.com (personal blog)  
> itsalwaysyou-jw.tumblr.com (Johnlock/writing blog)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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